A Marxist Has Never Written A Good

But My Gloom Did Not Lessen. I Knew That I'd Had A Bad Dream, And I Stood In The Dark Trying To Recollect It. The Second I Closed My Eyes, I Was With The Dead. They Did Things Words Cannot Express. They Spoke Madness. ("hanka")

When A Day Passes, It Is No Longer There. What Remains Of It? Nothing More Than A Story. If Stories Weren't Told Or Books Weren't Written, Man Would Live Like The Beasts, Only For The Day.

From Borrowing One Gets Poorer And From Work One Gets Richer.

There Is A Plan To This Universe. There Is A High Intelligence, Maybe Even A Purpose, But It's Given To Us On The Installment Plan.

Doubt Is Part Of All Religion. All The Religious Thinkers Were Doubters.